


The Prince's Companion

by Feathers7501, ioascc



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Magically Suggested Orgasms, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feathers7501/pseuds/Feathers7501, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ioascc/pseuds/ioascc
Summary: The rebellion has failed and Dean of Winchester finds himself prisoner of Prince Castiel. A stranger in a strange land… can Dean of Winchester find happiness as a slave to the epitome of magic?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 17
Kudos: 83





	The Prince's Companion

The acrid smell of blood, piss and mud fills Dean’s nostrils as he kneels before the Witch King. His knees sink into the cool muck as he holds his shoulders back, and has his hands tied behind him. The magical vines are pinching the thin skin of his wrists, cutting off circulation and making his fingertips tingle. He’s been stripped of his sword, his daggers, and his chain mail. The spring breeze cuts through his linen shirt and his leather jerkin. Sweat and blood from the battle cool on his skin, a trail of blood caresses down each vertebrae of his spine. The battlefield is silent, even the birds have stopped their twitter, instead the moans of dying men echo faintly across the landscape

They failed.

And today, Sammy will most likely die. Dean’s heart clutches painfully in his chest, and he breaks out in a cold sweat. He fears death, who doesn’t? But he fears his brother’s death most of all.

“John of Winchester, as punishment for your foolish uprising against the crown, you will suffer the loss of your life. I will strip your sons of their titles and their lands and I will be taking one of your sons to live the rest of his days in my dungeons while the other is doomed to wander this land penniless and alone,” Michael of Andover’s voice rings over the large field where mangled bodies are spread out like pox upon the land. The Witch King is in polished metals, his chest plate shines still beneath the spray of blood adorning it.

“Samuel,” he barks to his men.

“No!” Dean cries out surging to his feet, “Take me.”

One of the Witch King’s men strikes him down, mud fills his sight and mouth. He coughs it out roughly and rolls to his side.

“Please, take me,” he pleads, Sam can’t go to the dungeons to rot. He can’t let that happen. Sam is smart, he’s resourceful, he won’t remain in poverty long. Sam can take care of their mother.

“If you insist,” Michael gestures dismissively and barks, “Brother, take the man.”

Prince Castiel makes a small but intricate gesture, the Earth breaks open and roots rise from the depths. They wrap around Dean, biting into his skin, as they drag him towards Michael. He remains in the muck, staring up at the faces of his father and brother.

“Good boy,” John softly whispers, meeting his eyes. He’s a man, Sam is a man, but to their father they’ll always be boys. Fighting with wooden swords in the field behind their estate, jumping over the fences and dodging sheep. Stealing pastries from the cooks kitchen and hiding behind their mother’s skirts.

Michael’s sword is unsheathed, the sharp tip underneath his father’s chin. Blood trails down his neck as the point breaks the skin, undeterred John looks towards Dean and then Sam a soft smile on his face and then the smile fades, almost as if it was never there. Looking up to Michael with vehemence and snarling, “Do it.”

Michael swings his sword. There is a juicy thwack, and a thump and his Father is dead. Tumbling to the grass already marred with his blood.

“May he have peace in the halls.” Castiel whispers, unheard by his brothers. Dean relaxes into the vines, the will to fight leaching from his limbs They are defeated and magic will continue to terrorize this land.

“Dean,” Sam calls brokenly.

“Be brave, Sammy,” Dean chokes out, looking over his father’s headless corpse.

With another flick of Castiel’s wrist, Dean is standing and meeting eyes the color of the clearest blue diamonds. Even the bloody mix of mud and grime on the man’s face could not dim the almost ethereal glow of those eyes. They remind Dean of the blue diamond his mother commissioned years ago to be placed in his circlet on his eighteenth birthday. He stares into the man’s breathtaking eyes, soft and solemn despite the gore surrounding them.

Breaking the gaze, Dean is grabbed and steered away from Prince Castiel by a foot soldier. He stumbles, his hands still tied behind him. A rope is wrapped around his neck and Dean is hitched to his very own horse. Impala whinnies in fright, but Castiel appears shushing her in Andover’s high court tongue of Enochian. She calms and Castiel mounts her in one smooth motion, angering Dean.

He stumbles his way through the battlefield, Michael’s men singing of their victory and killing any of the men who still lay dying upon the field. Dean drinks in one last look of his brother, a lone figure in a sea of bodies. Tears roll unbidden down his cheeks.

* * *

“You will wash,” a guard hisses untying Dean from a tree.

It’s been three days of enduring the indignity of trudging behind his own horse, being carelessly fed bread and water whenever they stopped for rest. His only view is that of Prince Castiel’s back flexing, his shoulders cloaked in bright metal, and his hair curling around his ears. Dean is exhausted and hopeless. There isn’t any fight left in him. His skin itches and he’s unsure if his body will survive the journey back to the capital.

The guardsman manhandles him, stripping him of his linen shirt and cutting it away from his tied hands. He pushes Dean down onto the river bank. Jerking the boots off Dean’s feet and then roughly reaching for his ties of his breeches. Fear explodes in Dean's chest when the man kicks him to his hands and knees. The man palms his ass with his thick fingers and ruts lewdly against his crack.

“Sir Alastair!” a voice whips out.

“Milord?” the nasally man responds in a sneering tone and steps away from Dean.

“Leave.”

Alastair scrambles away, leaving Dean prone on the mud of the riverbank. He lets out several shaky breaths of relief. He will not be raped today. His body trembles and he sits back on his heels. Tilting his head up to look at his savior, he meets the solemn visage of Prince Castiel. The light through the leaves makes shadows dance across his face.

“I will not leave you unattended again,” the Prince states, his voice deep and strong.

Dean nods, swallowing audibly. The Prince is also still battle filthy. Two attendants stand stoically nearby, one with bathing needs and the other with fresh clothing. Dean watches while the Prince removes his own armor and clothing. When nude, the Prince wraps a large hand around Dean’s bicep and bids him silently to stand. He leads him into the clear and slow moving waters of the river. Nervous, Dean’s eyes flit from the attendants to the profile of the Prince. The attendants place their items on a large rock nearby, scoop up the dirty clothes, bow and walk away.

Silently, Castiel takes the soft soap mixed with herbs in his hands. He lathers and with quick precision he washes Dean’s body. Every inch is given attention. Dean feels the Prince’s calloused fingers run through his hair and rub his scalp, they move gently over his face, his chest and backside, and then between his legs gliding soapily over his cock and balls, and then down his body to his legs and toes. Shocked to have a man wash between his legs, Dean is malleable for the silent Prince. His body obediently bending wherever the Prince moves him, like the softest branch in the breeze. Dean stands there, the soap mixing with the blood of the battlefield, and watches as the Castiel washes his own body. Dean stands there entranced as those large hands run over his pectorals and down his flat abdominals to cup his genitalia softly, just as he did Dean’s.

Leading him farther into the river, Castiel dunks Dean into the water rinsing him. He dips down and rinses, his dark hair plastered back to his head. Castiel inspects Dean, running his hands over his shoulders and looking for spots of filth that he may have missed. Dean keeps his head down, he’s no longer a Lord in his own right, he’s a treasonous prisoner. A spoil of war. It will do him no favors if he fights.

“You will not be going to the dungeons,” Castiel states.

Jerking his head up, Dean meets those clear eyes once again. Mouth parting in surprise, a question on the tip of his tongue. He swallows it back down.

“The King has gifted you to me for my gallant participation in the battle,” Castiel mumbles softly.

“I am to be your slave?” Dean bursts out, his emotions overriding caution.

Castiel nods, a warm and steady hand once again on his bicep steadying him in the flowing river. One of the Prince’s hands seems to always rest on Dean somewhere; and Dean finds an odd pleasure and a modicum of comfort in that. He watches as the Prince leans down into the river to gather silt from the bottom, his golden skin taut over flexing muscles. To Dean’s surprise, the Prince coats the cool mud directly onto the rope burns that circle his neck and his wrists. Cool magic tingles over Dean, gently healing his broken skin and giving him a shiver of goosebumps in the process. Dean’s never felt magic before, it’s a heady feeling. He feels a wave of pleasure wash through him and, and he cannot stop his hips jerking, looking for some kind of friction to ease the heavy ache in his groin.

Castiel’s eyes glow, a bright white light shines from within and it is breathtaking.

The Prince lets out a long sigh, wrapping his hand around Dean’s left shoulder, “This will hurt.” Searing pain burns into Dean’s skin, the pain and pleasure of magic so intense that Dean cries out. Falling to his knees in the water, Dean curls around himself, his body a quivering from the conflicting sensations. His tied hands try to push Castiel’s hand away from him, but the mage only presses his burning hand further into Dean’s skin. Dean’s body arches away from Castiel, swaying towards him and away… wanting something more and begging for the pain to stop. He comes, totally unexpectedly, his eyes screwed shut and his lips twisted in a silent scream of ecstasy. Castiel holds on, undeterred.

When the mark is done, Castiel rinses the mud away from Dean’s pliant form once again. Slowly and with great care he leads Dean to the river bank. He dries Dean with reverence, as if they were lovers. He dresses Dean, his fingers nimble and quick, and even removes Dean’s ties to put a shirt and a soft light coat on him. Relief washes through Dean with his hands free, but the vines are tied again with soft fingers tapping against his wrist. The Prince even puts Dean’s shoes on for him and moves him to sit on a soft patch of grass.

Dean watches as the Prince dresses. Soft clothes fall and drape perfectly over Castiel’s lithe yet muscular body. Dean sits quietly, partially in shock but mostly enraptured by this powerful man before him. His shoulder burns and he feels loose and languid from his unexpected orgasm, but he ignores the sensations remaining wary of the man before him. Though Michael rules, it is well known that the youngest Prince of Andover may be the most powerful of all the brothers.

The King and the Princes control the elements, making them the most powerful family in the kingdom. Michael controls the air, Raphael fire, Gabriel water, and Castiel the Earth. Each mage has an affinity for an element but it is rumored that Castiel can wield them all. Dean’s Father hated magic and wanted to be rid of Michael’s rule, letting the states govern themselves. They had an army, but Michael was far too powerful.

Nothing else is said to Dean, but Castiel keeps one hand on him at all times. The low thrum of magic is buzzing in his ears, keeping the arousal swimming in his blood and pliant underneath Castiel’s hands. It is not until he’s following behind Impala once again, away from the large army and the other royalty, that his mind clears. Shaking his head to clear it , he stumbles and Castiel looks back. He halts the horse and pulls on the rope that is fastened around Dean’s neck. Steadying his feet, Dean passes his jailer unseeing but the thoughts are rushing through his head. Castiel tips his own water skin into Dean’s mouth, wiping away the water that escapes with a hand.

There is only another guard with the Prince, they travel alone and Dean thinks in that moment that he could get away from them and go back to Sam.

Placing a finger underneath Dean’s chin, Castiel forces Dean to meet his blue eyes once again.

“I will be able to find you wherever you go,” Castiel states softly as if he’s reading Dean’s mind, “The mark on your arm binds you.”

Snarling, Dean jerks his face out of Castiel’s grasp. Castiel lets out a soft “hmmm” and they are moving again. Dean stumbling along behind his own horse.

* * *

When they finally stop, Dean is so grateful that he sinks to his knees. It’s been five days on foot and he’s sore. He had ridden with Castiel half a day, his back pressed up against Castiel’s front. Strong thighs caging his, Castiel’s arms curling around his waist, sweet breath tickling his neck, and Castiel’s magical aura buzzing underneath Dean’s skin. He was aroused the entire day, his cock dampening the inside of his breeches with copious precome. His heart raced and he flushed with further arousal when he felt Castiel’s arousal pressed up against his sensitive cheeks. It was the sweetest form of torture. Dean refused all offers of a ride after that day.

If not riding with him, Castiel would stare at Dean. Deep penetrating looks that would make Dean squirm.

Gratefully, they have stopped at a remote manor house. The house was made of stone and seemed to grow from the forest floor, nestled as it was between the trees.. It is peaceful and also the most beautiful place he’s ever seen. The Manor has but a few floors but the symmetrical wings make a perfect square surrounding a lush atrium filled with green. Raised flower beds overflow with herbs and vegetables, and the fruit hangs heavy on sturdy trees. The scent is overwhelming and wonderful and Dean uses his clasped hands to wipe away the tears of relief from his eyes.

Servants come then, fussing around the Prince and untying Dean’s lead from the horse and freeing his hands. Castiel dismounts and immediately disappears into the house. Dean is ushered to a different entry, less ornate, more functional. He enters through a stout door and finds himself in the bowels of the kitchen. He is given a stool in the corner and a meal is placed before him. Warm broth with chunks of vegetables, fresh bread and butter, and a glass of ruby-red wine. A servant tends to his neck and hands quickly, quietly, and efficiently. She uses water magic and Dean is pleasantly surprised that her magic doesn’t arouse him.

“We’ll get you in the bath and you’ll feel good as new, sugar,” a new voice says breathily, caressing his back and shoulders before circling around to his front, “Oooh, you sure are pretty Lord Winchester. The rumors about you are true.”

Blinking at this dark-skinned woman, she smiles back at Dean undeterred by his silence, “Don’t worry baby, I’ll take good care of you.”

Dean learns that her name is Missouri, and as the Prince had, Missouri washes Dean like he’s a newborn babe. She talks to Dean the entire time, reassuring him with mindless chatter about the weather and her children. She dresses him in fine clothes and leads him to a quiet bedroom with a cheerful fire crackling in the hearth. She helps Dean crawl under the warm coverlets, and tells him to sleep, giving him some tea she tells him will make sleep come a little easier in a strange place.

Dean doesn’t need the help, but he drinks the tea anyway and tumbles into sleep. He doesn’t dream and when he awakes, Prince Castiel is sitting on the bed watching him. The prince is in a soft loose linen shirt and pants that fit comfortably on his strong frame, his hair is askew, and he’s barefoot. He looks like a peasant of sorts.

“I am glad you found some rest,” the Prince clears his throat and looks towards the fireplace, “This will be your room. I hope you will find it comfortable here, I know this home is not Lawrence Castle but it is my refuge from Court.”

“What am I doing here?” Dean asks, almost afraid of the answer.

“You will serve as my companion,” Castiel answers simply, “The days will be yours to do as you wish, I will only ask a few hours of your time around dinner to keep me company.”

Dean blanches, a companion. Thoughts swirl in his head, but anger and betrayal are chief among them. He is to be used after all.

“You want to fuck me,” Dean snarls and Castiel eyes widen at his vehemence.

Castiel surges from the bed, red faced and shocked, “I do not. I will not. I would not abuse my position in such a way. You have been entrusted to me and are under my care. In truth, I only wish for a little of your time. For now.”

Dean considers the Prince’s answer. Castiel watches as disbelief and distrust war equally on Dean’s handsome face. If he’s learned one thing, the magic stirring underneath The Prince of Andover’s skin does not lie. He wants Dean. The magic calls so loud that Dean can hear its siren’s song.

“I see.” Dean turns in the bed rolling away from Castiel. “If you would be so kind, I am tired...”

Castiel shakes his head sadly and leaves the room, the door closing with a thunk that sounds very final to Dean’s ears.

Dean rolls to his back, and wonders if he has done the right thing.

* * *

Dean thought being left behind would be a blessing, but the household is rather small and Dean is bitterly lonely by the third week. He misses his family and grieves for his Father. There is no one to talk to, the servants treat him as a Lord, bowing and curtseying in respect whenever he tries to engage them in conversation. Missouri is the only one who will speak with him at length, as the housekeeper she has more freedom than the rest. She gives Dean simple tasks to complete during the day, trying her best to keep him busy. Dean loves the manual labor, though the stable boys and maids watch him strangely.

It is not till the fourth week that he hears the tinkling laughter of children, that hope surges in Dean’s chest. Early morning before the sun is fully up, two towheaded children appear in the atrium, whispering to each other in Enochian and digging in one of the flower beds.

“Hello,” Dean calls, smiling at the children.

The little girl stops what she’s doing and throws a protective arm around her brother. They are twins, appearing to be around ten years of age.

“We weren’t doing anything wrong, Papa lets us play in his flower beds,” she states warily of Dean.

The head gardener, Joshua, is a kind dark-skinned man and Dean can’t quite place how these two fair-skinned children are related to him but accepts it readily.

“I’m Dean.”

The boy twin pops his head around the girl with a huge smile, “I’m Jack and this is my sister Claire. We were digging for worms to go fishing.”

“I can help with that, I love fishing,” Dean offers with a ready smile. The three dig for worms and make their way down to the river.

Jack accepts him easily, holding Dean’s dirty hand while they walk down to the river, chatting about different things. Horses, bugs, his cat that he wants to bring into the house but Nanny won’t let him, and his boring history lessons. Claire just sits there stoically, glaring at Dean with angry eyes. Familiar diamond blue eyes.

He laughs and talks with Jack, sharing stories of Sam and his home. Dean loses track of the time. They eat a lunch of berries and freshly caught fish that Dean cooks over an open fire. Even Claire warms up to him and comments on his talents of cooking. It’s late into the afternoon that the three make their way back up to the manor house. He’s so grateful that someone, even a child, is speaking at length to him that he doesn’t register the panicked commotion until the three are standing in the middle of the atrium.

An unfamiliar maid rushes towards the children, pulling them into bone-breaking hugs, speaking in Enochian with choked tears.

“Jack! Claire!” A deep voice calls out across the atrium and the Prince makes long angry strides towards the motley crew.

“We went fishing, Papa!” Jack states merrily in the common tongue, “We even ate what Dean caught!”

“That’s wonderful, my little love…” Cas relinquishes his anger and pulls his children into tight hugs, “I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves, but next time you must tell Nanny or myself where you are going. You both were gone for a long time.”

Placing a kiss on top of their heads, Castiel stands and barks an order at the maid (the Nanny, Dean presumes) and she whisks the children away.

“I hope my children are pleasant company,” Castiel growls after finally dropping his piercing gaze from Dean’s eyes.

Swallowing, Dean nods and looks away from the Prince. He doesn’t answer Castiel, but he can feel the man’s eyes roaming his visage. They undress him, stare into his soul, and Dean feels hot under his scrutiny.

“Good, I will see you at dinner then,” he states and walks away.

* * *

Dinner is pleasant, which is surprising to all adult parties involved. Jack and Claire sit on one side of the long table, Dean at the other, and Castiel at the head. Jack and Claire both talk animatedly to their father, affection between them evident. Dean stays quiet, not wanting to break the undivided attention the children are garnering from the royal.

When the children are ushered to bed by Nanny, Dean misses their chatter. They both kissed Castiel so sweetly, giving him long hugs and it made Dean ache. He was so lonely. Jack rounded the table then to hug Dean as well, his small arms wrapped tightly around Dean’s neck. Claire frowned at him, which made Dean smile. She was a prickly little thing. Dean revels in the warm touch of the child.

When the table is cleared and wine is placed before the fire, Dean follows Castiel and sits in the chair opposite his. Uneasy and awkward in the powerful man’s presence.

“Their mother died in childbirth and I have been bereft of adult company and conversation since her passing,” Castiel comments quietly taking a sip of the maroon liquid.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Dean automatically replies.

“Yes, well, it was a long time ago. An arranged marriage by Michael, but Daphne and I were friends. She left a hole in my life regardless of the nature of our marriage. That is why I asked Michael for you, I was in want of a friend… a companion. We are similar in age and from the same sort of society, I hate court and my servants are too frightened to engage in lengthy conversations. Michael will not permit me to marry again until he has children of his own. And honestly… I am lonely, Dean.”

Dean takes a large gulp of his wine and pops a dessert into his mouth. He doesn’t know how to reply to the Prince’s confession. He himself has been lonely. The ache in the corner of his heart for something more weighs on him. He knows how it is, to search for something more. Perhaps the Fates guided him here… maybe he’ll find his destiny here. If Dean is honest with himself he has always wanted something more than the life of a soldier, but with John of Winchester as his Sire it had always been soldiering or nothing. Children and other comforts were for the women folk.

Dean thinks again, I could have a life here, with this man.

He clears his throat and puts on a winning flirty smile, “Well, I guess you’ve got a friend now.”

Castiel looks at him, eyes searching and soft, he nods and the two spend the rest of their night in quiet companionship.

* * *

Things evolve into an easy friendship between Castiel and Dean. In large part due to Jack and Claire. Over the spring and the summer months, the two men spend their days teaching and playing with Castiel’s children. The air is thick and sweet, most of their time is spent in the fields and the river. Splashing, chasing, and talking. Dean learns about magic and to his surprise, not everything is as evil as his Father preached. Castiel is keen on sharing everything with him. He watches in awe as Castiel moves boulders, grows flowers, and ripens tomatoes.

In the evenings, Dean or Castiel read out loud by the fire after dinner. Casual touches between them do not go unnoticed. A hand on Dean’s shoulder when Castiel is pleased, the brush of shoulders as they walk together. But each evening they bid each other goodnight and Dean spends his nights alone. It’s a quiet life, similar to the life he had with Sam back home. He takes the task of teaching both Claire and Jake swordplay and hand-to-hand combat. Claire blooms under his tutelage and is better and quicker than Jack. Castiel even joins in, his powerful but shorter frame always winning their sparring matches.

Dean’s heart heals. He still misses Sam and his mother, and he talks at length about them to Castiel. Seasons change, but he still aches for his family. He doesn’t miss his own life, encumbered by his titles, responsibilities, and schemes of his father. He wonders how Sam is faring. If Sam has food, if he has shelter if he’s taking care of their mother.

It’s not until the depths of winter that Castiel kisses Dean for the very first time. They are spread out on furs in front of the fire in the den. Dean’s head is pillowed in Castiel’s lap, the princes’ fingers languidly carding through his hair. Magic thrumming between them. Castiel tenderly kisses his forehead, making Dean stutter the words he’s reading. Cas’ lips are dry, plush, and they linger near Dean.

“Cas-” Dean starts and Castiel shushes him, kissing his head again. Nuzzling his temple and hair, Castiel’s fingers run down his neck and over his shoulder. His hand rests over Dean’s heart.

“I sent a man to locate your brother and mother some time ago, he was successful and I expect their arrival any day. Our lives will change and I… I wanted to kiss you since I will no longer be able to,” Castiel whispers against Dean’s crown.

Dean sits up, gathering the Prince’s face in his hands, staring at him for a pause before leaning in and kissing him softly. A soft smile stretches across Castiel's lips and Dean kisses him again. Chaste kisses are exchanged until Dean nips at Castiel’s bottom lip, a soft moan rumbles from Castiel. Tongue flicking against Castiel’s lips, Dean presses on reacting to Castiel’s quiet moans of approval. Their tongues tangle, the kisses are slow and full of promise.

Pulling Dean into his lap, Dean grinds down against Castiel’s firm thighs and his growing erection.

“Nothing has to change, my Prince,” Dean moans out when Castiel rolls his hips underneath his. It’s a slow grind, a mating of tongues and hands that travel. Dean slips Castiel out of his tunic and breeches, the Prince of Andover splayed out underneath him his skin flush with arousal. Dean’s hands trace the sinew of muscle from his shoulders down to the narrowing of Castiel’s hips. His fingertips tingle from the magic humming underneath Cas’ skin. It grabs at him, soothing his nerves and inflaming him more.

Letting out a wavering breath, Dean removes his own clothing with haste, his hands trembling over buttons and ties. Dean’s eyes and hands follow, taking in the details of the Prince, his golden skin, the sparse hairs that spread across his chest, and trail down to his hard erection. His tip exposed and weeping, balls nestled tight against his body. Dean swallows audibly, mouth-watering and thinking of taking Castiel into his mouth.

“Dean, if you aren’t comfortable-”

“No, Cas, no, I want this, I want you, I want your touch, your love,” Dean replies.

“Come here,” Castiel softly commands, cradling Dean’s face in his own hands and plants devastating kisses against Dean’s lips, then neck. Castiel’s open mouthed kisses explore, pulling on Dean’s skin and leaving a cooling trail of pink marks against his freckled skin. He nips at Dean’s nipples, pulling a wanton moan from him. Dean can feel Castiel smiling against his stomach before the other man moves further south.

“You are so beautiful,” Cas breathes, his breath tickling and inflaming his cock, “Even here, so beautiful.”

Wrapping a large hand around Dean’s cock, Castiel strokes slowly enjoying the drag of skin beneath his hands. Watching Dean flush underneath him and the slow undulation of his hips seeking out more. It’s a powerful thing, watching Dean give in to the rapture of his flesh. When Castiel takes Dean into his mouth, he locks eyes with his lover. Watching the tears of pleasure gather in those green eyes, bottom lip abused by his teeth trying to stifle the moans that will echo through the estate. He abuses Dean’s stamina, edging him to the brink of release and stopping. His lover trembles beneath him and Castiel gathers him in his arms.

“Let's go,” Castiel whispers, leading Dean naked through the quiet halls into his bedroom. The air is cold, the two men move silently and avoid the servants that are putting the large manor to sleep.

The fire is roaring in Castiel’s room and when Dean is pushed back onto Castiel’s bed of large furs, he’s once again warm and pliant under Castiel’s ministrations. With confidence and quick movements, Castiel grabs a bottle of olive oil and coats his palm messily, gathering both of their members within the grasp of his hand.

“That’s good, feels so fuckin’ good,” Dean pants, feeling the heady drag of Castiel’s member against his own. His own hands and fingers biting into the meaty flesh of the Prince’s shoulders. Letting his eyes close, reveling in the feeling of Castiel’s body. When Castiel drops his hand, then his body against Dean rolling his hips into Dean’s so they are grinding against each other, Dean musters all his concentration to fight against his orgasm. He desperately wants this pleasure to last longer.

They aren’t quite kissing anymore, breathing closely together lips parted. Wanting and asking for something more is on the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he doesn’t quite know how to ask Castiel.

“What do you need, Dean?” Castiel murmurs against Dean’s lips, worrying them between his own.

“I need you to fuck me, my Lord,” Dean states working his hand between them onto Castiel’s cock, “I want to ride you and for you to fill me up.”

Pausing, Castiel runs a hand down Dean’s arm that is touching him intimately, “I’ve never gone farther than this with a man, I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“I’ll guide you,” Dean states, kissing Castiel’s lips sweetly.

With sure movements, Dean guides Castiel between his legs. Delving into his core, opening him sweetly until he can't take anymore. Castiel’s fingers coated in oil and some of Dean’s own emissions leaking from his cock. Soft pleas fall from Dean’s lips to Castiel’s, to sink into him and to hit that sweet spot so Dean can see the stars in heaven.

The two men rock together, Castiel slowly filling Dean up, basking in the tightness and warmth of Dean’s heat. With a gentle press of hand, Dean flips them so he can sink further onto his lover. Watching the Prince of Andover’s mouth drop open and eyes flutter shut in a silent exclamation as he feels this exquisite pleasure for the first time.

Dean rolls his hips, working to bring them both to the brink of pleasure. The slap of flesh and his own moans fill the room with the crackle of the fire in the background as counterpoint.

“Dean, my love,” Castiel stutters out, his fingers pressing into his quivering thighs, “I’m close.”

“Not yet, Cas,” Dean growls out, angling for his own release, he wants to paint the Prince’s chest with his own release. Castiel wraps his hand around Dean’s member, pushing Dean over the edge. His orgasm locks his entire body up, painting the Prince as he wanted but giving Castiel the opportunity to flip Dean over, pistoning into Dean chasing his own climax. Fisting the furs above his head, Dean holds on, enraptured by the masculine beauty of the Prince of Andover. When Castiel comes with a shout, Dean’s muscles tremble underneath him but he wraps himself around Castiel to lay bonelessly together.

As Castiel unwraps himself from Dean, he watches as Castiel crosses the room, fire light flickering against the sheen of Castiel’s skin. Dean snuggles into the blankets, languid and content while Castiel putters around the room. Dean stretches out, relaxing fully while Castiel tends to the mess between his legs.

“Will you stay?” Castiel asks softly.

“Hmmm?”

“Will you stay for the rest of our days?” Castiel asks, crawling up Dean’s body, planting a soft kiss over Dean’s heart.

Carding his fingers through Castiel’s hair, Dean guides Castiel’s lips to his own, “Of course my Lord, after all... I am your companion.”

**Author's Note:**

> *  
> *  
> *  
> Feathers: This was fun!!  
> IOASCC: Hope you all enjoyed it! ;)


End file.
